Read Darshan for Free Online

weekly post from across his plate of ladoos. The package sat there on the edge of the counter, just as it always did. Six months of that same brown paper, same string, same exact proportions. Not one bit of difference. His curiosity—constrained by good manners alone—was tormenting and ruthless. It made his fingers tingle, heartlessly prodding him to do the very thing for which he could never forgive himself. Rip away the paper. Tear open the box. Consider the consequences later.
    Guilt, however, made his case hopeless, and the mystery around the secret contents continued to intensify, compounded by each passing week and by each new package.
    The woman had been the worst of it for Baba Singh. In his daydreams she was a shadowy figure of curvy lines and swishing fabrics, hips swinging bell-like, smiling boldly with invitation. Only a woman like that deserved the privilege of receiving regular weekly gifts. But one look at the doctor—with his oily hair and chipped tooth, his good cheer and many peculiarities—and the possibility of such a woman disintegrated.
    “Who do you think she is?” Baba Singh had once asked the train station master.
    “The woman? Some say she is so beautiful that she is painful to behold. A man with such fortune should hide her away so as not to fall victim to her loveliness.” He shrugged then. “Others say that she is dreadfully ugly, and that is why she is painful to behold.”
    “And you?”
    “I think the doctor loves a woman who will not have him,” the station master had replied, gazing thoughtfully out into the empty plain beyond the train tracks. “Men like that have big hearts but never women who can appreciate them.”
    Baba Singh considered the station master’s words now, still eying the package on the counter. He broke off a piece of ladoo and slowly put it in his mouth.
    The doctor waved a hand in front of the boy’s face, leaning forward over the counter. “Another?” he offered.
    Baba Singh pulled his eyes from the parcel and shook his head. “Doctorji?” he asked.
    “Hmm?”
    “Are you married?”
    Laughing, Dr. Bansal wiped his mouth clean. “If I were lucky enough to have a wife, everyone would know about it. She would be the light of my life, a princess for all to see.” He nudged the ceramic plate, stacked with sweet, yellow orbs of ladoos across the counter toward Baba Singh. He shook the crumbs off his shirt, the morsels leaving behind freckled spots of oil. Reaching into his pocket he pulled out a square of paan and popped it in his mouth, the betel leaves mixed with areca nut and slaked lime paste instantly staining his mouth red. Relaxed now, he leaned back in his chair, which squeaked with the shift in his weight. “Why do you ask?”
    “I just thought there might be someone in Calcutta.”
    The doctor’s expression changed, like he was remembering something. “I left before I had the chance to think about marriage.”
    Baba Singh finished his tea, swishing the last sip in his mouth, trying not to look at Dr. Bansal. He suddenly lost interest in the package, gripped by a fear that something was changing. His dream still bothered him. Not every night, but enough. He was not certain who was lost or who remained.
    “Something wrong, Baba?” the doctor asked.
    “Ranjit told me that something big will happen. He thinks it is only a matter of time.”
    The doctor’s face turned grim. “Maybe he is right. The British are recruiting again, for the police and military. I have seen flyers at the market.”
    “Will you go with them?”
    Surprised, Dr. Bansal shook his head. “Not me. But others. Those wages will tempt people to the devil.”
    “I will never leave,” Baba Singh said. “I am going back to Harpind.” There were memories there. They made him feel safe.
    “It will not be the same as it was,” the doctor replied. “You will not be the same. You are already different. This is the reason why your father has not gone back, not even to